Alone
by Enlee
Summary: A rewrite of the ending to "Help Me".  Oneshot House/Wilson Angst. Please read and review!


Foreman filled me in on House's meltdown earlier in the evening, about how he had opened the ambulance and found House and his dead patient. About how upset House had been. The screaming match. How he was afraid House might finally go off the deep end and hurt himself.

That was all I needed to hear.

I could see pale golden light in the windows as I pulled up to 221B. Not bothering to knock I tried the door and was surprised to find it open. The lights were on in the back of the apartment where the bathroom was. House was sitting on the floor, staring at something in his hand. A bottle of Vicodin was at his feet. He looked like he had been run over by a truck-filthy, covered with scratches and bruises, a bloody bandage on his neck. It wasn't until I had stepped onto the room that I noticed the bathroom mirror in a million pieces in the bathtub and a huge hole gouged into the wall; the remains of one his clever hiding places.

"You're not going to leap across the room and grab them out of my hand?" House asked, still staring at the two white pills in his palm.

"No," I replied. "We should change that bandage on your neck and get you cleaned up."

"You're not going to stop me?"

"No."

"It's such a Wilson thing to do. Why won't you?" A note of surprise tinged his voice. He hadn't expected me to answer the way I did.

I rummaged around for a washcloth and said, "Taking the drugs was your choice to begin with. It's your choice if you want to go back on them."

"Right now I don't see any reason why I shouldn't," he grumbled.

"Why do you say that?" I asked, wetting the washcloth and honestly wanting to hear his answer.

"You and Sam. Cuddy and Lucas. Perfectly happy little couples without me in your lives to mess everything up." There was a faint clicking as he tossed the pills from hand to hand. "I promised Hanna she would be fine and look where that got me."

Sitting down beside him I asked, "Who's Hanna?"

"My patient. The one that died tonight despite everything I did to save her." House was getting irritated but made no attempt to swallow the Vicodin.

He knew her name. He had just referred to his late patient by her name. Biting back my surprise I started to clean through the layers of dirt that covered him. An angry-looking scratch ran down the side of his nose. "Tell me what happened, House."

His eyes met mine. The blue was dull and flat and filled with pain, the whites where bloodshot to hell; he was beyond exhausted. "Didn't Foreman fill you in?"

"Just what happened after you arrived in the ambulance. Tell me what happened before that...when you were with Hanna."

"Her leg was crushed. She was determined to save it. I tried to save her leg but couldn't. That leg was coming off one way or another. She begged and pleaded with me to save her leg. Cuddy tried to talk her out of it but Hanna wouldn't listen to her. But Hanna would listen to me. Do you want to know what I told her, what I said that convinced her to let me cut off her leg?"

"Yes, I want to know."

Looking back down at the pills in his hand, House said, "I told her that if she didn't let me cut off that damn leg she'd end up like me, miserable and alone."

My heart shattered like his mirror. I grabbed his wrist. He made a feeble attempt to pull away, never taking his eyes off those goddamn pills.

"Do you really feel that way, House?" I asked quietly. "Do you really think you're that miserable?"

"Yes," he answered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know I am."

"How can you say that?"

"Because it's the truth." His hand clamped around the pills, like he was daring me to pry it open and take them from him. "I used to be a good person, a good doctor. Now look at me: I'm blubbering mangled mess on the bathroom floor, trying to scrounge up a few pills because I think it will make me feel better. Hanna wouldn't let me within fifty feet of her if she could see me now."

"You did everything you could, House. You know that."

"It wasn't good enough, was it? Hanna is still dead and I'm still a pathetic bastard who's going to die miserable and alone."

With my thumb I gently stroked the inside of his wrist, hoping to calm him a little. Instead he tensed up even more, like he was expecting a blow. Like he was expecting me to scream and yell at him. Like he was expecting me to agree with all the terrible things he had been saying about himself since I got there. He was on the edge, teetering, ready to fall and break apart unless I pulled him back right then and there.

"House," I began, "if you're all alone, why am I here with you now?"

Something had to give and it did. The dam holding back his emotions broke, letting it all coming rushing forth in a flood. Tears streamed down his haggard face as he threw the pills down the hall. "Damn it..._Damn it_!" he cried as all the pain, anger, frustration, anguish rushed to the surface, out of his control. His face red and blotchy, his body shuddering with sobs, he was now beyond words, only able to sit there and cry.

I took him in my arms and he didn't try to fight it. His hot tears soaked through my shirt and soon my tears began to mix with his. "You're not alone, House," I said between my own sobs, my fingers threading through his hair. "It's okay...you're not alone."


End file.
